Virus
by insertsnarkhere
Summary: The hardest thing in life was to watch helplessly as someone you love slipped through your fingers.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: The hardest thing in life was to watch helplessly as someone you love slipped through your fingers.

Disclaimer: Property of Marvel and Fox and Stan Lee and blah blah blah...

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It had happened while Storm had been trying to explain to them the significance of the Louisiana Purchase.

John could feel his eyelids droop, his eyes rolled back, everything in the room started to spin, Storm's voice turned slow and twisted like a broken cassette tape. He felt himself falling out of his seat but he couldn't even find the strength to break his fall with his hands. He just fell.

The last thing he remembered was someone screaming his name.

----------

He slowly opened his eyes. For a moment, he thought he was still in class but realized quickly that they must have gotten him down to the med lab. The room was dark but he could feel the IV needle in his arm and hear the slow steady beep of a monitor. They even changed him into one of those stupid hospital gowns.

He sat up and took a deep breath. He pulled the needle out of his arm, removing also the wires that had him hooked up to that damn annoying machine. He got out the bed and tried to see where his clothes might be.

"They're in the cabinet over there," a quiet voice said.

To say John was startled would be an understatement. "Jesus fucking Christ…you almost gave me a fucking heart attack."

"Good thing we're in the med lab then, huh?"

John squinted, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and saw a figure sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. "Rogue?"

"Dr Grey said you fainted."

John snorted derisively. He opened the cabinet door and pulled out his clothes.

"She also said this hadn't been the first time."

He was silent. So much for doctor-patient confidentiality, he thought to himself as he buttoned his jeans.

"She wasn't blabbing it to the entire school. I just…I overheard her talking with the Professor."

"I didn't take you for one to eavesdrop. Isn't that more Jubilee's job?" he joked.

"What's going on with you, John?"

John was quiet, pulling his shirt over his head. He checked his pockets to make sure his Zippo was still there.

"John…" She pleaded for an explanation. Like he could give it to her. Even he didn't understand what was going on with his own body.

"I'm fine, Rogue. Everything's fucking peachy."

And with that, he walked out, leaving her alone in the still dark room.

----------

He was trying to finish his math homework but his hand seemed to have other ideas. His hand started to tremble slowly, he thought it was just maybe an oncoming cramp and tried to shake it off. But the more he tried to write, the harder it became to maintain his grip.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up quickly, hiding his hands under the library table. He found Rogue standing next to him, a gloved hand on his shoulder, a worried look on her face.

"Are you on some kind of mission to scare the living daylights out of me?" He shrugged off her hand, stuffing his things into a bag and leaving in a hurry.

He made it back to his room, managing to hold onto his things without having them spill out from his tremors. He threw the bag onto the floor and looked down at his hands. He kept clenching and unclenching them but he just couldn't stop shaking.

----------

The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day.

Everyone was rushing out, eager to not think about homework or tests or book reports just yet.

Rogue, however, was oblivious to all of it.

During the entire class, she sat at her desk, either staring at John's empty chair or glancing over to the door expecting John to come through it at any moment – a lighter flicking between his fingers and a knowing smirk curving his lips.

He never came. He didn't show up to any of his classes.

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A/N: Thank you to **Crystal-Luna** for the help! You rock, girl! And you need to update your stories! ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Rogue took the key from the shaggy haired motel clerk who gave her an indifferent wave of the hand when she muttered her thanks. He went back to watching his late night talk show on a rickety old black and white TV, stirring his dinner of ramen noodles with a fork that looked like it had seen better days.

She walked out of the motel office and toward the parked car where she could see that John was still sleeping, his cheek resting against his own shoulder. She opened the passenger side door and gently shook him by the arm. "John? Wake up."

He woke with a start. He stared at her for a split second before recognizing her and realizing why he was in a car. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Where are we?"

"According the bright orange neon sign…the Sleep-EZ motel." She didn't mention the fact that someone had knocked out the 'P' in the sign so it now read like 'slee-ez'. How original, she thought to herself.

They don't speak as she grabbed one of the bags from the back seat and he grabbed the other, the one she had packed for him in a rush. She unlocked the door to their room, running a gloved hand against the wall to find the switch. The unnaturally bright fluorescent light came on, revealing the rather conservative décor of the room. The décor might have fooled them for a moment but there was no mistaking the stench of stale cigarettes and dried alcohol. God only knew what had happened here before…

He looked at the two twin beds with the matching bedsheets, arching a brow in amusement. "So you got us the honeymoon suite, huh?"

She just rolled her eyes, not bothering to reply while he chuckled at his own joke, and claimed the bed near the door by throwing her bag on it.

He gingerly sat on the other bed, bouncing up and down for a moment as if to make sure it really was a bed. Once he was satisfied, he laid down on top of the covers, folding an arm under his head. He flipped through the TV channels, settling on a Korean soap opera for reasons all his own.

She unpacked a few things, taking out the toiletries she had remembered to bring. She looked over to where he was laying, about to ask him if he wanted to use the bathroom first when she saw that he was already sleeping again. He had slept through most of the car ride so far and it seemed like that was all he was going to do the entire trip.

She sighed heavily, wondering for the fifty-thousandth time if she had made the biggest mistake of her life by sneaking him out of the med lab.

But then she remembered again why she had.

_He had been missing for six days. No one seemed to know where he was – at least none of the students knew. _

_The teachers would whisper behind closed doors, eyes darting here and there in jittery nervousness. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize something was going on._

_It wasn't until Logan finally sat her down, tired and worn out from her daily harassment and nagging, that he told her the truth about John's sudden disappearance._

_She will never forget his solemn eyes and regret-filled words._

"_They got him down in the med lab. It's…bad."_

_He took her down to where he was being kept isolated – for his own protection, they claimed. When she saw what was happening to him, what was being done to him, she wanted to cry, scream, run away in horror and disbelief. _

_It wasn't him. It couldn't be him. The John Allerdyce she knew wasn't that boy lying on that bed, pale skin made to look even paler against the stark white sheets, red and yellow and black wires hanging from what seemed like every inch of his body, machines and IV drips seemingly his only companions._

_When he opened his eyes, his once beautiful blue eyes, there was only a silent plea…_

She took a t-shirt and sweatpants along with her toothbrush to the bathroom.

While she was changing, she heard it. Someone was fiddling with the doorknob.

Before she could figure out what to do, she heard the familiar low growl-y voice from the other side of the door. "I know you're in there so open up."

She let out a heavy sigh, unlocking the door for Logan. "How did you find us?"

He snorted. "You really think it was that hard? You guys might as well have left chunks of bread for me to follow your path. And it didn't help that you took the brand new car that had the GPS installed in it." He paused, looking over at the sleeping boy on the bed. "They want him to come back to the mansion, you know."

She looked panicked enough that Logan almost took pity on her.

"Look, Rogue, I didn't take you down there so you could bust him out. I know you think that you're helping him but they are too…"

"I know that…" She looked down at the patterned carpet, her hair falling over her face.

"Then what are you doing?"

"I couldn't leave him there, Logan. He looked…he looked like he had already given up." She mentally shuddered at the memory of his half-dead eyes looking up at her from his cold hospital bed. "I…" She realized what she was about to say and quickly tried to cover it, "…he doesn't want to be there, waiting for some miracle cure to happen."

Logan looked over again at John, still sleeping through their conversation and the dramatic overtones of the soap opera on the TV. "Where are you guys headed anyways?"

"He knows a guy in New Orleans. He said…he said he could help."

Logan looked at her skeptically but kept his opinions to himself. "You got enough money?"

She just shrugged, finally brushing the hair away from her face.

He dug around in the pockets of his leather jacket for the envelope he had stashed, handing it to her. "Here, take it. You're gonna need it more than I will."

She tentatively opened the envelope, gasping loudly at the sight of the bundle of hundred dollar bills. "Logan…this…this is too much."

"Take it," he repeated. It was obvious from his tone of voice that rejection was not an option. "Get something decent to eat…and a better place to stay next time, okay? Oh…and Jean wanted me to give you these."

He rummaged around again in his pockets and pulled out a bottle of pills. Rogue took the bottle with an unsteady hand, almost afraid of what it meant. "She…she knows?"

"Yeah, she knows." He doesn't mention the fact that everyone at the mansion knew by now what had happened. "She said that he needs to take one pill daily. Should be enough in there to last a couple of months." He paused. "You got a phone? A cell phone?"

She nodded, her attention on the instructions label taped onto the bottle.

"Good. And here, take this too." He pulled out a small keychain from another pocket.

She took it from him, curious to why he would give her such a plain-looking keychain. "What is it?"

"There's a panic button inside, just release the latch and it'll open the lid. You gotta press down hard or it won't activate. It'll alert the team if you guys get into trouble…or something."

She doesn't comment on his 'or something', doesn't want to know the real meaning behind it. She shifted from one foot to the other, awkward and nervous. "Why are you doing this?"

He let a short burst of laughter. "Why am I doing this? Hell, I'm not even sure why."

He paused for a moment, taking in the sight of her. He had a gut-wrenching feeling that this will be the last time he'll ever see her as he wanted her to be – the pretty girl with the stripes in her hair and the sparkle in her eye, the smart girl with the bright future, the girl he had hoped so much for. He knew that somehow all this – the sick boy, this hastily planned road trip, _everything_ – will change her and not for the better.

_Why, oh why, did she have to pick this particular boy to care about?_

But he wasn't her father, wasn't even a blood-relation to her. He was her friend…

"Listen, I had strict instructions to bring you and fireboy over there back. But I don't know…I was never one to follow instructions… I know you and I trust you and I'm trusting that you're making the right decision here."

Her response was to bite down on her lower lip, a small nod of the head.

"You get into any trouble, you call or press that button, okay?" He turned, about to leave, when he pulled his wallet out and gave her another parting gift. "Here…"

She took the credit card he handed her – the name printed on it said 'Scott Summers.' She looked back up at Logan, a sheepish expression on his face.

"It's the least he could do," he smirked, then added with a more serious look, "Err…emergencies only, okay?"

She smiled somehow knowing that Scott will only find out he was missing the card when he got the bill at the end of the month. "Right."

And before she knew it, with a roar of the motorcycle engine, he was gone.

She closed and locked the door, leaning against the wooden frame to gather herself again and breath a sigh of relief.

"Is he gone?"

Startled out her thoughts by the sound of his voice, she whirled around to see John watching her. "How long have you been awake?"

"His voice isn't exactly the soft soothing type." He paused, turning off the television set. "So? Is he coming back?"

She walked back to her bed, shoving the envelope, the pill bottle, the key chain, the credit card into her bag. "He isn't coming back."

"What about…?"

He doesn't get to finish. She cut him off with a definitive tone, "They'll leave us alone. We're going to New Orleans."


	3. Chapter 3

They took turns driving although more often than not, it was Rogue in the driver's seat.

He did look better though. He lost his sickly pallor, a healthy pink blush gracing his cheeks. He slept a lot less than before, which was an even bigger relief to her. He kept her company during the long hours on the road, talking about mostly nonsensical topics like what dinner at the mansion would have been the previous night or fact or fiction: Jubilee always wore yellow in tribute to some ancient sun god she worshipped in secret.

The only drawback to his newfound vitality was his insistent need to fiddle with the radio, trying to find just the right tune to suit his mood or the scenery or whatever his twisted reasoning might be. It was making her crazy. She was pretty sure this was some sort of punishment he was inflicting upon her for confiscating his lighter from him twenty miles ago. She thought _that _sound was painful, his radio fiddling was much much worse.

"You touch that dial one more time, I'm going to break your fingers."

He drew back immediately, looking at her in surprise. "I thought you didn't like this song."

In the short silence between them, the beginning lyrics of a pseudo-punk, pseudo-angst Avril Lavigne song filled the empty space of the car.

"I don't. But I'll suffer through it." She eyed him for a moment before turning her attention back onto the road. "From now on, rule number one: driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

The corners of his lips quirked up, amused and entertained at her choice of words. "Shut my…cakehole?"

"Yeah, and rule number two: if shotgun doesn't shut his cakehole, he's going to be left behind at the next rest stop."

He chuckled, sarcastically replying, "Promises…promises…"

She shot him an annoyed look before continuing, "Rule number three: no more eating in the car. Did you leave another egg sandwich in here? What the hell is that smell?"

He sniffed, wondering what she talking about now. "I don't smell anything."

"How can you not smell that? It fricking reeks in here!" She took her own sniff, almost gagging at the smell, when she realized the stench was actually coming from one of the bags in the backseat, more specifically _his_ bag. "Oh my God! We have to stop at a laundromat!"

"What is your problem?"

"You smell!"

His reaction was priceless – a mixture of incredulousness, offense, annoyance, and shock – and she would have laughed if she wasn't busy trying to hold her breath against the odor. "Oh yeah? Well, you're ugly!"

"This isn't a stupid name-calling game, you idiot! Your clothes…they smell…like bad…"

"Sorry that my natural musk is abusing your delicate sensibilities, but what the fuck do you want? I think it's some kind of, oh I don't know, unspoken rule that people wear clothes when they're out in public. And a certain someone, who shall remain nameless, only packed for me a pair of jeans, two shirts, and a few boxers, which, by the way, aren't even mine!"

"FYI: I only had like an hour to get everything together! I'm sorry I didn't let your fashion sense dictate what I should have packed for you! You're lucky I even remembered to pack fucking underwear!"

He stared at her for a second after she finished her angry rant then suddenly burst out in hysterical laughter.

At first, she was caught off-guard, maybe because it had been such a long time since she had heard something so merry and joyous coming out from him. The sound warmed her heart.

But then…he just wouldn't stop. And her warm reception to his laughter quickly turned cold with irritation.

She pursed her lips, pointedly ignoring him while he continued to laugh at whatever joke he thought she made. Finally after five minutes of non-stop laughter, she snapped, "What the fuck is so fucking hilarious?"

"You… You're what so fucking hilarious…" he said in between laughing fits. He managed to gather himself together, wiping at the tears at the corners of his eyes with his finger. "So what did make you remember to pack underwear for me? The thought that I'd go commando this entire trip?"

Even though she wasn't looking at him, she could feel his eyes on her and her face burning bright red. "Didn't I say to shut up?"

He continued to chuckle but didn't say another word.

--

"We'll get you a couple more shirts before we leave town," she said, closing the lid to the washer with a dull thud then pushed in the coins for the machine to start. "I think I saw a Target close to the highway."

He smirked. His mouth opened to respond with a quip that he might need more underwear too but she beat him to the punch, holding up a hand to stop him.

"Yes, I know what you're about to say so don't even bother."

His smile only widened but he kept his smart-aleck reply to himself.

She rolled her eyes – something she had been doing a lot of these days. Gee, she wondered why. "Come on… I think I saw a restaurant nearby…"

She turned, about to walk out of the laundromat when he grabbed her by a gloved hand, twirling her around to face him again. "Wait a minute… I…uh…I wanted to say thanks…"

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "For what?"

"For…getting me out of there…" He paused for a moment then added with a grin, "And putting up with me so far…"

Instead of a normal reaction of saying 'you're welcome' from any other person, she opted to stand on her toes and placed her free hand across his forehead.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking your temperature… You're sounding feverish…"

He laughed, lifting her hand away from his forehead and returning it gently to her side. "I'm fine, Rogue."

She shrugged, giving him a small smile. "I don't think I've ever heard you say thanks before is all."

"Yeah…well…" he started, looking sheepish and embarrassed, "there's a first time for everything."

They leave the laundromat to find a decent place to eat, not even realizing they were still holding hands.

--

She was pretty sure her jaw had just dropped to the table, watching as the plates of food were delivered to them – cheeseburgers, tuna salad sandwiches, fries, meat loaf, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, chili, chicken fried steak, the list just went on and on. "You think you got enough?"

He doesn't answer as he was already chomping into a cheeseburger, slurping up Coke in between bites.

She sighed, taking off her gloves to start eating herself and wondering if he was making up for all the meals he missed while he was in the med lab.

They ate in companionable silence, slowly but surely going through each plate and cleaning them to a gleam.

The waitress came back, grinning at the empty plates. "You two have enough room for dessert?"

Rogue eyed the chocolate cake displayed under a glass dome on the counter. She _will_ have a piece, even if it meant she would have to suffer through tight jeans and an upset stomach later. The cake looked like it would be worth it. "Can I have a slice of the chocolate cake, please?"

"Sure. What about you?" the waitress asked John.

"I'll just have a cup of coffee."

When the waitress had left the table, John looked at Rogue with a self-satisfied smirk and an arch brow. "Thought you'd be full since you were the one complaining about the amount of food I ordered."

"You know that rule of shutting your cakehole? That still applies outside of the car."

He lost his opportunity to reply when the waitress walked back to their table with their cake and coffee. She only has time to set them down before she got called away to take another order.

Rogue was savoring the taste of chocolate and fudge frosting when John looked up from his coffee cup, a serious expression on his face.

"Can I ask you something?"

She stared at him for a moment, a half-chewed piece of cake still in her mouth. "Who are you? And what have you done with John Allerdyce?"

"What?"

"First you say 'thank you' and now you're actually asking first before blurting out a question? You sure you're not feverish?"

"Rogue, come on. I'm not kidding around here."

She threw up her free hand in the air in pretend exasperation. "Exactly!"

"Rogue! I just want to ask you something, all right?"

"Fine…go ahead and this better not be about your dirty underwear…"

Just when she gave her permission to ask his question, he hesitated. "I was…I was wondering if you ever thought about your family… Back in Mississippi, I mean…"

Now she was puzzled more than ever. "I don't understand…"

He let a short huff of laughter, playing with a sugar packet between his fingers where normally a lighter would be. "I don't understand it myself. I guess…I've been thinking about, you know, stuff…"

"Stuff?" she repeated, waiting for him to continue. She put down her fork with deliberate care, feeling like this was not the time for something like eating chocolate cake and besides that, she lost her appetite for it the moment he mentioned the word 'Mississippi.'

"When I was growing up, it was just me, my mom, and my dad. We used to travel a lot. I think my dad had some kind of checklist of the places he wanted to go see – Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore, the Smithsonian, the Alamo… I don't remember a whole lot, the thing I remember most, though, was riding in the backseat of our beat-up station wagon and my mom insisting I sing 'Wheels on the Bus' with her and my dad reading out loud all the billboard signs on the road."

"What happened?" she murmured quietly, almost afraid of his answer and what had happened to that carefree small boy who sang songs and been loved by devoted parents.

"We were about to go on another trip – my dad wanted to see a giant ball of twine or something equally ridiculous." He gazed out of the giant picture window behind her, his look so far away she wanted to ask him where he was and who he was thinking about. But then he cleared his throat nervously, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. "Well, anyways, long story short: there was an accident and our crappy car caught fire… He never even got to see his ball of twine."

Rogue stayed silent, not knowing what to say.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is you shouldn't wait to see them…your family, I mean." He paused, trying to gauge what her reaction might be. "And…and if you want, we can go down there and see them."

She looked up sharply. "I thought you wanted to go see your friend in New Orleans, that he can help you…"

"We will. I'm just saying that…we can do both…" He shrugged, flinging away the sugar packet he still had between his fingers back onto the table. "It's just a suggestion."

She was silent again, lost in her own thoughts, while he waved over the waitress to ask for their check.

--

It was late when Logan finally rode into the garage of the mansion. The silence was deafening once he turned off the engine and unfolded himself off of the bike. He was returning the key back on its hook behind the lock box when he sensed him – the boy was sitting on one of the workbenches by himself.

"She isn't coming back." Bobby said it more like a statement than a question.

"No, she isn't."

"Did you even talk her out of it?" he asked, his voice full of resentment.

"Listen, kid, you know and I know that once Rogue sets her mind onto doing something, there's no stopping her. She's made up her mind and she's going through it."

Bobby doesn't say a word but the resentment still lingered in the air and Logan snorted derisively, wondering what else he was going to be blamed for.

"I was going to ask her to be my girlfriend…" It was then Logan realized Bobby had something in his hands – it looked like a…ring? "We've been on a couple of dates and it seemed like we were getting along, you know? I thought she liked me." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I guess…I guess I never really knew her, huh?"

Logan sighed, stuffing his hands into the now empty pockets of his leather jacket. "You know, Bobby, this might not have anything to do with her liking him more than you. It might have to do with the fact that she's just trying to help out a…sick friend."

"Yeah, maybe."

What goes unspoken was doubt that was actually true.


	4. Chapter 4

They were sitting together on the small couch of their hotel room, watching another soap opera – this time John settled for a Spanish one. He was just on the verge of falling asleep, his head nodding off towards the couch's armrest, when he heard her quiet voice murmuring next to him.

"You're a fucking bastard, you know that?"

He straightened up, clearing his throat and turning slightly to look at her. "What?"

"You. Are. A. Fucking. Bastard," she said slowly and deliberately, emphasizing each word with a hard poke on his shoulder.

He sighed heavily, wondering what past sin he was paying for now. "So are you going to keep me in suspense or are you going to tell me exactly why you think I'm a fucking bastard?"

"I was trying to get over it, you know? I actually thought I was. I met new friends and I liked the school and I thought I could do this. I can live a decent life here. But you… _You_ just had to bring it up. Make me think about it and all the things and people and places I left behind…" She paused for a moment then added, almost as an afterthought, "Fucking bastard."

He doesn't answer her, sarcastic and mocking as he would have been a long time ago. Instead he snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her towards him. She tensed for a brief moment, afraid of even the slightest bit of unintentional contact. He, on the other hand, acted like he was totally and completely oblivious just how close he was to her bare deadly skin.

"Was it bad? Is that why you left?"

She rested her cheek against him, settling herself as close to him as she dared possible. She traced the swirly patterns on his shirt with a finger, almost as if she could lose herself in them and not have to deal with this old harsh reality. "It wasn't like that. I love…I love my parents. They're good people. I think they would have stood by me. But…I don't know…other people… I wish I had been a better daughter."

"Don't be like that. You're a good person."

She laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah right."

"Hey, anyone who can talk down Logan from committing first degree murder over a missing bottle of beer is a good person in my book, okay?"

She smiled, oddly comforted not only by the memory of saving him from the angry Wolverine and also by his own words.

They fall silent for a moment, his arm still around her, her cheek still resting against him. The only sounds in the room were the clashing noises from the television set where two women were screaming at each other in rapid fire Spanish.

"Why do you watch this?" she asked quietly. "There's perfectly good soap operas in English, you know."

"Nah…I like the foreign ones. You get the gist of what's going on but there's still enough room to make up your own dialogue. It's more interesting that way."

The women were now throwing vases at each other, glass and flowers and water spilling all over them, bits of leaves sticking in their hair. "So what's going right now?"

"I'm pretty sure the woman in the red dress is pissed off that the other woman is sleeping with her husband. But what the woman in the red dress doesn't know is that the other woman is only pretending to be sleeping with her husband because he doesn't know how to tell his wife that he's actually sleeping with the poolboy."

She looked up from her position to arch a brow at him. "The poolboy?"

"Come on, no one looks at a poolboy like _that_."

"So in your world, they're automatically sleeping with each other?"

His smirk was full of mischief. "Of course."

She giggled, girlish and genuine. He liked that. "You're such weirdo."

"Takes one to know one…"

--

She couldn't believe she was here. She had to refrain from pinching herself; the scene before her was too surreal.

The house was exactly the same – two stories, blue paint, white columned front porch, the old oak tree still growing on the ever immaculate front lawn, the numbers '401' still nailed right next to the door, the hideous goose and gander mailbox with their last name proudly painted on it was still there too…

It was all the same. Like she never left…

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

He was watching her face carefully, trying to gauge what she might be thinking. Did he push her into this? Was she not ready? He couldn't tell…

"Rogue…we don't have to…" he started to say but was cut off from finishing when she turned to him, eyes pleading and vulnerable.

"Will you come with me?"

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. He hadn't expected _that_. "Uh…yeah, okay."

He watched as she slowly unclenched her gloved fingers from the steering wheel and got out of the car. He did the same and waited for her to make her way around the car to the sidewalk.

She stopped by his side, both of them looking up towards the house, not noticing how their hands instinctively reached out for each other.

There was only two ways this could go – good would be her parents welcoming her with open arms, bad would be…well, she didn't want to think about that just yet. She took a deep, somewhat calming breath. "All right. I'm ready."

They walked the short distance from the sidewalk to the front door in silence, a mixture of dread and excitement pooling in their stomachs. When they finally reach the door, Rogue tried to find the strength to lift her hand to push the doorbell. It took her several tries, her mind swirling with all the imaginary scenarios on how this might turn out – most of them very very bad, involving torches and pitchforks and angry villagers.

She snapped out of her thoughts when she felt him give her hand a comforting squeeze. She looked over at him, giving him a nervous smile and a return squeeze. Then finally, she lifted her free hand to push the doorbell.

But before she even had the chance to extend her finger, the door swung open suddenly. John and Rogue both took a step back in surprise. There stood an elderly woman, gray hair in a loose bun, neatly pressed cotton dress, shock written all over her face.

"Ma…Marie? Is that you?"

"Grammy…"


End file.
